Naija Girl Abroad (Part 2): The Struggles of Foreign Living

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

I was going to make purely
light-hearted posts on my adventures in foreign lands, different from where I
was raised.

With the heart-wrenching stories
that came out of Libya late last year, it hit me that perhaps, ‘abrodians’ have
over time, done a huge disservice to the rest of the brethren at home; making
life overseas sound like a life of beans and bread, with coconut toppings for
breakfast every day.

I know, bad governance occupies
the largest seat in the blame trajectory. What with government after government
failing to fulfill their respective social contracts with the people and not
providing basic living amenities for the citizens, thereby sowing seeds for the
need for ‘escape’.

But the rest of us also play our
part in this tragedy. We paint this false picture of life in “the Abroad”,
making it out to be the perfection that it is not, thereby subconsciously
urging others to (literally) do anything to have their slice of perfection; at
whatever cost it may entail.

Someone needs to start telling
the truth. So I have self-appointed myself the Minister of Truth

(A.k.a party-pooper) 👿

***

Living outside the land of one’s
birth – in this case, Nigeria - is not as easy or pretty as Hollywood makes us think.

(Please I am not talking about
Togo or Ghana. Those places are as ‘home’ as my Abagana).

It is a mirage that is often
perpetuated, moreso in these days of Instagram
and Snapchat.

We are all inundated with
pictures of the faux fur coats and beautifully decorated houses, with captions
of “sitting-at-home-chilling-in-the-pool-with-my-woke-bugatti”.

(*shakes head furiously… wig
almost falling off*)

The most of it is false. The
parts that are true come at the huge price of hardwork, with tons of personal
sacrifices, and absolutely no shortcuts:

Life Abroad as an alien or
immigrant is no bed of roses, ‘Abroad’
in this case being ‘obodo-oyinbo’.

Upon relocation, the first thing
that hits you is… well, Reality.

For starters, no one is waiting
with a red carpet to welcome you to “the land of your dreams”. In fact, no one
realises “you have arrived”.

The same way you packed your
entire load from Nigeria is the way you will carry it on your head and on your
back.

Alone.

You’re like a drop of water in a
mighty ocean.

You realise how (super)ordinary
everywhere and everyone is. Contrary to the Broadway-esque shows we grew up
with on television, Abroad people are not always dancing and singing on the
streets, with fountains of free ice-cream flowing at every intersection.

Folks hustle and go about their
daily business as much as they can, in other to avoid being broke and hungry.

And just in case you did not
know, there are also broke and hungry people abroad.

The next thing that hits you: Culture Shock.

(Prepare for this one)

Things you had taken for granted
as a normal part of your daily living is no longer exists.

You know how little kids line up
at your door every morning with plates of akara
to chant “Uncle Ekaaro… have a nice
day”!

Nobody has your time. “Good-morning”
is not ‘a thing’ Abroad (making you wonder if it is an Igbo word)

And even when you go out of your
way to greet “Goodmorning”, at the most, you could get a ‘short smile’, which really
translates to: “I really really want you
to think I am nice, but I really do not have the time to wish you a
Goodmorning, or ‘Good anything’… and I really do not want you to also think of
me as a witch, so collect this facial expression of mine, and let us all go
about our day in peace”.

Humans abroad are rather
different.

(Sigh.)

No one is available to Help you, or dash you money, or squat
you.

You know how you took advantage
of Syracuse your gateman, to wash and iron your clothes, clean your car, go to the
market for you, mop your floors, and bathe your dog, in return for two meals of
Eba and soup (without meat) per day?

Your day of reckoning came the
moment you stepped foot into the Abroad; there is no free labour Abroad. If
care is not taken… you could even end up becoming Syracuse.

And unless you have blood
siblings or awesome cousins who really love you, you are on your own. Which
explains why that your Aunty who swore she loved you the last time she visited
home, never picked your call again after the first day you called.

There are the eye-opening Personal Experiences to help you
understand that no matter how you prepared for life abroad, you are every bit
of a JJC as they come.

After you find yourself running
helter-skelter like a misplaced rabbit in trying to cross the roads randomly,
it is then it will dawn upon you the huge unkindness your government at home
did to you all your life growing up in Nigeria, without functional pedestrian
lights at the traffic-stops.

Also, that ‘phoneh’ you picked under Tejuosho bridge will not disguise your
thick accent, and you will learn to slowly draw the sound “WuhDerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”, in order to purchase a bottle of Water.

You will also learn to stop
getting excited at the mention of oyinbo
‘parties’; common sense will teach you to quietly fill your stomach with a bowl
of “ola-ola” pounded yam and Egusi
soup – or Nigerian Jollof Rice - ,
before you go to meet the bowls of grass and jars of coffee waiting for you at
the “Party”

There is also Local Experience, waiting to deal with you.

For example, as a medical
doctor, nobody is giving you their patient (to kill), if you have not passed
the requisite qualifying exams as a doctor.

Irrespective of how many years
you had worked at home, or the amount of foreign qualifications you possess,
you will be required to obtain a license in your chosen area of expertise… even
if your area of expertise is in flashing a smile.

And even if you were well
certified in a field as mundane as Looking-in-the-Mirror, recruiters would
still want to see your “five years of local experience”.

(*insert ‘Laugh-Out-Loud’ in
capital first letters*)

As if you practice witchcraft,
and “local experience” is something you can conveniently pluck from your coven,
without the need to actually be employed to gain the requisite local experience

Then, there is the biting Cold to deal with.

I am not sure exactly who wrote
that song, but when the cold hits you, all you can think of is how to kidnap
the person who came up with the idea:

White Christmas.

There is nothing cute about the
cold. The cold freezes your brain - like
ice-fish in the deep-freezer - and starts to work in reverse motion. Like the
sloths of Zootopia.

As you head out in the biting
cold to find your daily bread, you find yourself
constantly muttering curses on the government of the day in your home country
for subjecting you to a life without year-round summer, in the quest for better
living.

Above all, you know how your ‘melanin-poppin’ skin colour makes you
special, and protects you from skin cancer?

But it also singles you out, and
despite the expectedly high-level of development of the new society you find
yourself, you are bound to experience first-hand the travails of Racism.

Sometimes it may be overt. Like that co-passenger on the train who simply refuses to budge for you to sit
beside them.

Other times, it is more covert. Espoused
in subtle racial profiling, blanket prejudice and sheer ignorance.

Have I scared you enough?

If so, that is not the
intention.

To scare you, that is.

The idea is not to paint an all
out gloomy picture of life abroad…

(Ok, maybe it is. A little bit)

Rather, the essence is to point
out the reality that life in the Abroad is not as perfect as it is often
potrayed, so that when Baba Qudus comes to meet you to pay two million naira, for
a job and a mansion waiting for you abroad, you can tell him you know it is not
true.

Even the best of immigrants have
had to work their way through; the long hard way, and with a lot of sacrifices.
Yes, there is water, electricity, with no fuel queues, and responsible leaders
who actually understand they serve the citizens who elected them.

But it is certain that you will
pay your dues to have the ‘good life’... as is pretty much the same anywhere.

There is no shortcut to happiness.

In summary, while foreign living
may be desirable, it is absolutely not worth the potentially fatal sacrifice of
mortgaging your existence for the promise of a “better life”, via shady
migration promises.

Nothing is worth your life.
Especially not the Abroad.

Paz,

Meg.

*Have you followed our blog today? Simply click on the Follow button to the right-side of the post, for your computer screen, or keeeeeep scrolling down on your hand-held device. And keeeeep scrolling further down to add us to your circles. 😊

You Might Also Like

16
comments

Oh wow..this was beautifully written. Living abroad is definitely not a bed of roses. It takes hard work and you learn to be completely independent. It's not as easy as most people believe but then nothing in life is every gotten on a platter of gold. Thanks for sharing!

I love this....... laughed all through. But the thing is, even with this "truth" people will still say it's a lie. She doesn't want us to enjoy like her. Obodo oyibo is the land flowing with milk and honey with pounds and dollars on trees. May we all open our eyes to reality and think twice before selling even our unborn children in the quest for travelling abroad. KPOM